


Dinner and a Date

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River is a head turner wherever she goes. What if some man noticed her in a night club, only to be dragged into one of her and the Doctor's escapades?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Date

He sat in the night club and stared.

He couldn’t help it. She was, without doubt, the sexiest, most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. All curls and curves, sultry, free spirited (going by her laugh), with the dance moves of a goddess.

He hadn’t so much as gotten his drink all the way to his mouth yet. He just kept staring. Oh yeah, if there was ever a time to risk rejection, tonight was the night. He had to meet her.

She followed her girl friends back to the table, and they called for drinks. They seemed to be having a girl’s night out. Always the best, that’s why he came here on Tuesday’s after all. All the lovely ladies.

He watched them for a while, but no men seemed to be with them. They danced with a variety of partners, always returning to the same table.

He set his drink down, still untouched. Time to go for it. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t go introduce himself.

He wended his way through the small tables, the music blared too loud close to the dance floor, and the glittering lights from the dance globe strobbed starlight around, making him almost dizzy. It was dark and dusty, and smelled of sweet liqueurs and perfume.

He approached the table and cleared his throat. She turned to look up at him, still sucking the juice off the tiny umbrella from her drink. His gut punched.

“Hello,” he said, keeping his voice smooth, “I’m Andrew. I was wondering if you’d like to dance?”

She lifted blond eyebrows, not supercilious, but a bit admiring, her glittering eyes roved down him and back up with appreciation. He knew what she was seeing, tall, blond, kept himself in shape, smooth slacks and a classy turtleneck. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of in his appearance.

She held out one elegant hand as the song changed. “Why thank you, Andrew, I think I’d like that.”

He took her hand and helped her up. “Your name?” he asked.

“River,” she said, as she set her umbrella aside, “River Song.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“I like it.”

Ooh, _sass_. He was in love.

It wasn’t a slow song, drat the luck, but it was lively without being raucous, and she certainly had the dance moves. He mirrored her moves, enjoying the parts of the song that allowed him to touch her, to twirl or dip, she fit smoothly into his hands, soft, but strong.

She laughed at some joke he told, and his head felt full of champagne, he led her back to her seat, her friends returning from their own dances.

There was a clatter from the kitchens, a man fell through the kitchen door, staggering to stay upright. He stumbled and looked frantically around. He started stumbling his way through the tables, bumping into waiters, stepping on people’s feet, apologizing to everyone, turning around in a confused circle then blundering on.

He barged right up, tripped, and almost fell onto River’s table. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized to the other ladies, waving his hands in a drunken manner.

His unkempt hair was too long in the front, dripping in his face, his bow tie was sodden, and he reeked of beer.

He reached out and grabbed River’s wrist, “Come with me,” he started to drag her off.

“Now just a minute!” Andrew imposed himself between the drunk and River, knocking the man’s hand away with a quick chop.

The man stared at him in blurry disbelief. “Ow!” he said, almost under his breath, half hunched over, as if he was too drunk to stand up straight.

“I don’t think the lady wants to go with you!” Andrew said loudly, to get past the beer fumes to the man’s addled brains.

The idiot just blinked at him as if he didn’t understand and reached past for River’s wrist again.

Andrew stepped into his way. Frowning.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” River said behind him, her breathy, soft voice sending a thrill down his spine. She leaned up behind him, he could feel the heat of her, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll handle it.”

She stepped around him, all elegance in her party dress, she reached for the drunk’s elbow and led him gently back toward the kitchen. “You’re obviously drunk, dear,” she said gently to the poor dork. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

She manhandled the drunk away with no problem, the pathetic man still walking half crouched over, cradling his wrist like a big baby. She was firm, but gentle. Andrew grinned, obviously a practical woman. He’d definitely have to get her number.

He sat down at the table to wait.

———

The kitchens exploded.

The glitter ball fell and shattered on the dance floor. Monsters boiled out of the kitchen, wreaking havoc. Patrons screamed and scattered, running for the exits, pushing and trampling each other as huge, pale, pot bellied monsters ripped out of the skins of overweight cooks and waiters.

Andrew dived behind the bar. He grabbed a fifth of scotch and broke it over the head of one of the monsters that was clawing at him. He stared in shock when the monster exploded.

Laser blasts suddenly emanated from the broken kitchen doorway. The loudspeakers blew up with a squeal of feedback and shrapnel, the monsters keened and covered where their ears should be. People screamed.

“River, hit the sprinklers!” an authoritative voice yelled out.

River stepped through the blasted kitchen doors, dress torn, hair wild, a large gun held in each hand, she shot out the sprinkler heads over the dance floor, one after the other. Sirens screamed, water burst out, raining down and drenching everything.

Andrew felt a large hand clamp around the back of his throat. He reached up instinctively and grabbed two huge curved claws big enough to encircle his neck. He tried to bend forward and throw his opponent, but the body behind him was too heavy, the center of gravity too low, and the body leathery and stinking to high heaven.

Long arms lifted him over the bartop.

Suddenly someone threw a pitcher of orange juice in his face. “Sorry about that, mate!” The monster behind him exploded, knocking him over the bar and into a pair of long, gangly arms.

He staggered, and looked up, into the face of the drunk. He didn’t look drunk now. He looked manic, delighted, fiercely vibrant, and _alive_.

“Duck!” The drunk shoved his head down and crouched with him behind an overturned table. River stalked through the shambles of the nightclub, shooting monsters left, right, and center.

More monsters boiled into the club, these clad in armor, like gladiators. One grabbed her from behind. Andrew jumped up from behind his table to go help her, the drunk dragged him back down and shook his head, a grin on his face.

River grabbed the claws around her neck, wrenched, whipped, spun, and shoved a spiked high heel in the monster’s bulbous ass, shooting it forward into the musician’s drum set with a crash.

The drunk grinned like a lunatic. “Come with me,” he yelled over the cacophony. And started crawling away. Andrew stared over the edge of the table where River had just thrown one of the shorter monsters into a trio of taller ones, knocking them all over like ninepins.

The drunk looked back at him and nodded his head. Andrew shuffled in the broken glass and followed.

The former drunk led him around to behind the D.J.’s sound board. “Here, hold this!” he yelled over the noise, it sounded like the monsters were now rampaging through the reception area, from the screams, not everyone had gotten out.

He took the handful of wires the maniac handed him and crouched with him behind the shelter of the sound board.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

The gangly man pulled himself out of the quickly gutted sound system, festooned with wires. He took the odd metal device out of his mouth and started soldering components.

“Hyperstatic portal in the walk in freezer. Tried to blow it up. Backfired. Local vendetta war. Gangster factions. Got to close the portal.” He held up something that looked like a half melted handful of gummy bears welded around a block of platinum. He wired it into the sound board.

“There’s no speakers,” Andrew pointed out. The maniac grinned and held up his fancy soldering iron.

“Sonic.”

He spat out the mouthful of wires, rammed the end of the sonic into the mass like a candle in a cake, and ducked as a greyish blob of Slitheen flew into the front of the soundboard, cracking its head with a sound like a melon breaking.

“Anytime, Sweetie!” River’s voice yelled over the hubbub. Sarcastic.

Andrew lifted his eyes up over the sound board to see River surrounded by a group of nervous looking, half-armored Slitheen. She was standing on a tabletop in the center of the room, dress ripped up to mid-thigh, barefoot, armed with an open bottle of vodka in one hand, and a red high heel in the other.

She didn't look frightened. She looked like she was enjoying herself.

Andrew sighed.

“Fire in the Hole!” the dork yelled beside him, and activated something on his soldering iron.

Suddenly there was a thunderous flash of white light, blanking everything out for a second. And when it cleared there were the sounds of tables crashing, high alien screams, and a hole torn in the fabric of reality in the center of the room. All the Slitheen were being sucked into it.

The center of the hole was pure black.

Within seconds the room was clear, nothing but overturned tables, broken glass, and the remains of the glitter ball trampled into glittery dust on the dance floor. Water dripped everywhere.

River jumped down off the table with athletic grace.

“River! Wait!”

Andrew watched as the dork jumped up, rushed around the sound board and scooped her up in his arms, he set her back on the edge of the table. “Where's your other shoe?” he asked.

She pointed under a nearby table, and the man went crawling on all fours under it in the broken glass to drag it out.

Andrew walked toward her, admiring as she swung pretty legs encased in immaculate hose, elegant arched feet smooth and delicate under the sheer silk.

The gangly man scrambled back, shaking her shoe out. “Here we go,” He slipped both shoes back on her feet.

“Thank you, Sweetie.” He grinned. Then frowned.

“Where are your guns?” he asked, perplexed.

She pointed under the table. Her guns lay under the table in a neat pile. The man leaned back to look, but didn't retrieve them.

“They were wearing photon armor,” she explained.

He nodded.

“Huh?” Andrew asked, articulately.

“Photon armor resists energy weapons,” the gangly man said, as if that explained everything.

“What just happened?” Andrew asked, looking around at the devastation of his favorite night club. The ring in space had disappeared.

“Well,” the gangly man began. “We weren't able to blow up the hyperstatic gate, just the controls, so I rigged up a new set of controls in here, realigned the gate, so that it sucked all the Slitheen back to the original gate location.”

He held up a finger as pounding noises sounded in the kitchen. “Speaking of which, I better just go finish the job.” He trotted around behind the sound board, rummaged and popped up with his gummy bear device, he clipped a lead for the electric guitar to the side and, dragging the lead behind him, trotted into the kitchen.

Andrew blinked.

He turned to River.

“Did he just say all the monsters are now in the freezer?”

She nodded, smiling.

He sighed, and rubbed his face.

There was a huge “POW!” from the kitchens. A slightly quieter, “Ow!” And the feeling that someone had just drawn their fingernails over the chalkboard of the universe.

Andrew shuddered.

River leaned back on her arms, still kicking her feet, the motion pulling her torn dress tight across her in an entirely fetching manner.

Before Andrew could say anything the man's voice yelled from the kitchen, “Honey, did you still want some ice cream?”

River tilted her head, “What kind?”

Some rumbling, and thumps, then a yummy sound, “Pistachio!”

“Any Neapolitan?”

Some rummaging and the clank of metal spoons, “Yes!”

“Then I'll have the Pistachio!”

Laughter from the kitchen.

Andrew turned back to the gorgeous woman at the table in the night club. “I guess there's no use in asking for your phone number, is there?”

She just grinned at him.

—

* * *

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